


The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Fucking

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Weekly Roundup [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Armpit Kink, Belly Kink, Body Worship, Choking, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dare, Dildos, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Farting, Feeding Kink, Fisting, Food Kink, Food Sex, Foot Fetish, Foreskin Play, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Incest, Knotting Dildos, Light Dom/sub, Loud Sex, M/M, Macro/Micro, Masturbation, Nursing, Nursing Kink, Pining, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Punishment, Raunch, Scat, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Smegma, Sounding, Spanking, Spooning, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Urethral Play, Watersports, Wet & Messy, messing, musk, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 19:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18037136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Another round of curiouscat prompts. Filthy boys doing filthy things to each other. Enjoy.





	The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Fucking

****I was out drinking yesterday and before I fell into bed I wrote down in my phones notes: "Derek sleeping over ar Stiles after a night out drinkind and him having to fart so much" I dont really have the muse to write that but maybe you like it :)** **

It's been embarrassing since he was fucking fourteen. It stopped being cute much earlier than that-- really only babies and sometimes dogs can pull off the funny, adorable gas-- but it was around puberty that it tipped beyond a neutral point. His dad had to have mortifying talks with him about properly washing his ass and maybe watching his diet. His roommates gave him his own bathroom. He was usually so careful.   
  
But Stiles made him crazy. Stiles was so fucking cute and infuriating and beyond clueless to the fact Derek was kind of over the moon for him. Derek thought he could make his point when Stiles invited him to go dancing. But before Derek could get the courage up to put his hips to work and grind on Stiles in a way that would make his knees weak, he was already surrounded out on the floor. Boys and girls pressing their naked bellies to him and trying to whisper in his ear. Derek doubled down on stupid decisions there and decided to wash down the angst with tequila shots.   
  
Stiles dragged him home, laughing fondly at him and calling him big guy and touching Derek's face so, so gently. Derek soaked up the attention like a wilted flower begging for water. It might have been a round about way of getting there, and it definitely was a little manipulative, but he was the only person Stiles brought home tonight and Stiles was even undressing him, getting him ready to crash on the couch. Derek wanted to kiss him. Derek wanted to tell him everything. Derek had to fart so bad he thought he might explode if he didn't.   
  
It felt like a bit of a nightmare, staring into those big, beautiful eyes and trying so hard to clench tight. Stiles kept looking at him funny, and Derek knew he was making distressed faces, probably sweating. His stomach kept gurgling way too loud for Stiles not to notice. He actually fucking whimpered, face flushed, like a pathetic puppy that didn't know what to do. Stiles just shook his head, snorted. "Dude you can just let it rip. No judgement here."   
  
Stiles said that, but he didn't know what it actually meant. He hadn't ever experienced the way Derek's farts were hot enough to irritate your eyes. But his pickled brain heard the encouragement and immediately relaxed. Derek stared deeply into his crush's eyes as he blasted hard enough, long enough, that they both questioned a little if he'd just shit himself. Stiles' nose was so cute as it wrinkled a little, and then a lot. His whole face turned bright red. He let out this soft, surprised, "Oh!"   
  
Derek wanted to die. There was no coming back from this. Stiles would never date him. Stiles might not even keep him around as a pity friend if he'd left an ass stain on this couch. At least, that was what Derek thought. But then Stiles was cuddling up to him, pushing them to lay down, holding Derek in the little spoon position and letting him feel that he was hard against his ass. "Keep me warm during the night, huh big guy? And maybe once you dry up we can make the morning special."

 

* * *

 

****Ever imagined that when Dean is alone in the hotel room he gets the greasiest pizza in town, just chills on the bed watching porn and is to lazy to wash up after eating so he jacks off with all the grease still on his hand?** **

It's not like Dean's not self aware enough to "get it". Believe it or not, he's pretty in touch with himself. Whether he chooses to acknowledge that information is his own damn choice, but he's got it all stored away pretty neatly, to examine if and when it feels right.   
  
That moment is not now, not when Sammy is away for the weekend and Dean's got a hot date with soap opera marathons, delivery pizza, and his trusty right hand. He knows it feels good to really burrow in and become a nasty fucking couch potato because of his ol' reliable daddy issues. He gets these visceral flashbacks about getting food slapped out of his hands, John refusing to buy him bigger jeans, being called tubs when told to change a tire and make it fucking snappy. John would call it tough love, that a chubby kid was one that would have a harder time running from monsters. A real dad would call it abuse.   
  
Dean didn't analyze it. He just lived with the results-- those being that greasy food didn't just comfort him, it actually made his dick hard. Eating whatever he wanted, however much he wanted, and in truly sloppy ways felt liberating and indulgent enough to tinge into erotic. Dean didn't have to furtively hide snacks. He didn't have to tuck the wrappers into his pockets to throw away privately. He didn't have to duck his head, waiting for the flurry of furious expletives when he popped another button.   
  
Instead he inhaled the melty cheese and salty meats and rich sauce. Deep dish. Stuffed crust. Dean put the box in his lap and moaned at the way the heat in his lap made him grind against the cardboard. And once he was finished? Once his stomach was bloated and he felt stuffed to the gills and he had gas that could kill a small animal? Then he pushed his pants down.   
  
He didn't even have to lick his palm. Still coated in orange-y grease, his smeared his hand through his dense pubes and then over his already leaking cock. He massaged his balls with the other, whole crotch reeking of lusty musk and a fat fucking meat lover's. Nothing felt better, he swore to God. No chemically engineered lube, no naturally produced slick. Not a thing on this earth made him cum harder than working food fats into his dick. The warmth. The scent. The grotesque sounds as he brought himself off over and over again. Oh, and the taste. Spunk swirled with salami. It got him practically high.   
  
So maybe it was a little fucked up. Maybe Dean shouldn't be quite so giddy. But in the end, he'd take whatever happinesses he could afford. And this was one thing his old man gave him that Dean wouldn't ever take back.

 

* * *

 

****What about something with Parrish? Maybe he 'accidentally' screwed something up and has to make up for it by 'apologizing' to the Sheriff. Under his desk. Probably nude. There's a lot he could get up to down there.** **

Parrish was a smart boy. Capable, dedicated. There were a lot of reasons the sheriff was thankful to have him as a deputy. But the kid could be overeager. More than anything he wanted to make himself useful, irreplaceable. In his desperation he would often stumble, bright eyes more focused on the person he was trying to please rather than the task he was trying to accomplish.   
  
It was endearing, if a little frustrating. Like many of the young men in his life, John could see he needed structure-- a tight leash. So he started giving Jordan some new assignments, ones meant to teach him some patience, restraint. "Under the table, boy. Better not let anyone here or see. Wouldn't have to put you on suspension now, would we?"   
  
He would vibrate with all his retained energy, shuffling on his shins as he folded himself to fit beneath the sheriff's desk. His physicality had been easy enough for him to make note of, boxed in the way he was. But the first weeks were plagued with close calls as he moaned aloud, eyes fluttering, breathing heavy when John would piss down his throat, fart in his nose, feed him a load. The sheriff covered for him, made his excuses, but would be forced to usher the kid over his knee for a paddling.   
  
Parrish was no less chipper these days, but the tremulous excitement that used to characterize his stumblings had been traded in for slack jawed reverence. He had learned his place and how to serve. And everyone in Beacon Hills was starting to make use of it.

 

* * *

 

****Don't mind if I do! I feel like Sam's taken to calling Dean Daddy when he was pretty young, and he just never dropped the habit. Eventually, Dean started loving that term, getting pretty damn turned on when Sam would call him that just casually throughout the day - and eventually during sex** **

It didn't feel right at first. Shit was rough, but Dean still loved his dad-- their dad. But he couldn't exactly find it in himself to correct his kid brother. Sammy just didn't understand. Dean was the one that was always there. Dean fed him, dressed him, put him to bed at night. Those big, beautiful eyes of his would get so watery when Dean instinctually snapped, "Don't call me that!" So he figured he'd explain it later.   
  
Only then, he grew a deep fondness for the way Sammy would grin at him, let his hair be ruffled, hug his belly and mutter a "Love you, daddy" into his shirt. Dean couldn't drop the kiddo's he threw out, the way he mother henned after his baby brother long after he needed it. It didn't help that Sam didn't mind. His teenage years saw him using the term with a sarcastic lilt to his voice, but it was always softened by the smile in his eyes.   
  
Dean missed hearing it when they were apart. Those long few years Sam was at Stanford, he craved it. He missed his kid. But when Sammy came back, it was different. Dean froze up again, had no idea how to react when tall, lanky, self assured Sam crawled up between his legs at night, touched him where he shouldn't, sucked on Dean's tits with a moan and darkly whispered, "Want you so bad, daddy."   
  
He didn't say stop. He didn't push his baby brother away. Dean's breath caught in his chest and his eyes welled with relieved tears as he opened up his legs and reveled in the way his boy took him. All these years, he'd never taken the mantle for himself, not really. But when Sam started to mewl, when his hips bucked and his rhythm broke, Dean held him tightly, licked at the shell of his ear and husked to him in a dizzy drawl, "Don't worry, baby. Daddy's got you."

* * *

 

****Isaac's the kind of guy who gets sweaty and smelly on accident. He probably doesn't even notice until someone points it out - or until he's pushed against a wall and a tongue starts grooming his pits, crotch, and feet. Amirite?** **

Isaac is definitely one of those boys that most people would have looked at and never thought would smell as bad as he does. Scott? You take one glance at him and are like, that kid is all farts all the time. Stiles? You know he has some DANK cumrags under his mattress. Derek? Has never not smelled like sweaty low hangers and so sometimes people wouldn't say he stinks just because they don't realize his natural smell is unwashed balls.   
  
But ISAAC is that pretty boy with the sweet curls and shy smile that you don't expect it from. He's the kid that the second he takes off his shoes, skunks an entire room. That particular, sour foot smell that seeps immediately into couch cushions and carpets and no one can pinpoint right away. They just keep getting these intense whiffs of tangy ripe and whip their heads around, nostrils flaring, trying to find it.   
  
He's definitely fucked his own sneakers before, wears socks with holes in them, and has hair on his long, dexterous toes. And since we've all agreed Jackson is the biggest dirty foot slut to exist, he's the first one to confront Isaac about it, but it's only to suck on his toes, grind against his sole, and beg to be foot fucked. And once the smell of Jackson's ass is added to his nasty stink, it only gets better from there.

* * *

 

****after several rounds of drinks, Peter Quill boasts that he’ll accept any dare. next thing he knows he’s sitting in Thor’s lap and shitting his pants with Thor’s erection against his ass.** **

The game is almost too easy for Thor. Mortals are always amusing, fun to play with an observe, but Quill has been his favorite in recent memory. The man is so caught up in his ideas of image, in sustaining this version of himself that doesn't exist even to his own shipmates. Loki would be proud of him, trying to take the captain down a peg, especially in public, for everyone to witness.   
  
Thor's methods of ribbing had never been quite as... extreme, but his devious streak was no less persistent. That night Quill first tried to out drink both him and Rocket, then changed trajectory when he noticed neither getting quite as sloshed as he was. He crowed to the bar that he was infamous for having no fear, tackling anything! There was no task the great Starlord could not do.   
  
The bait was too good for Thor to pass up. "If you are truly the confident man you claim, your pride will bear no mark from lessening yourself before me. It is no new feat, but come and show these people how the Lord of Stars shits himself." The bar broke out in uproarious laughter, taunts, dismissive grunts. No one thought he would actually do it.   
  
But Quill's slack face steeled for a moment, shooting Thor a look that meant he would not be humiliated again. So his walk meandered in its pathing, but he strode to the god nonetheless, stumbled into his lap, hiccuped and burped in his face as he hung from his neck. "Y'think I won't do it. So fuck'n smug. Guess who's g'nna last laugh when there's shit on your lap."   
  
Quill smirked, like he'd just revealed his master stroke, and before Thor could rebut it, a loud wet crackling filled the room. The music died down. Conversations drifted off. Everyone turned their heads, nostrils flaring as the dank, dirty scent of shit filled the room. Quill grunted as his face turned red, shaking a little with the exertion of forcing it out quickly.   
  
Thor gripped him by the hips, half to keep him balanced, half to seat him more heavily over his groin. He groaned, licking his lips and staring in awe as the man actually did it. He could feel the heavy, thick load weighing against his cock, the threat of its wetness seeping through to his own clothes making him hard. Some patrons looked away, others cat called, a few reached into the fronts of their pants as they watched.   
  
Spittle started to drip down Quill's lips as he concentrated all his effort in relieving himself, eyelids fluttering when his bladder went as well and the sour musk of his beer laden piss flooded between them. When he finally finished, the seat of his pants bulged, his breathing came heavy, the bar reeked. Thor grinned, rolling his hips and moving the dump with his dick with wet, sticky sounds. "You've certainly shown us, haven't you, captain? Completing such a task should certainly come with a reward. So what do you request of me?" Thor emphasized his question by yanking Quill flush with his thighs, loving the way the human moaned as his shit pushed up his back and out his waistband

* * *

 

 

****Since you feel like writing: how about some solo (+bonus toys) action? Stiles or Derek?** **

I don't know that much about toys, so you're gonna have to forgive me if I don't go a very interesting route here. :P I don't use them at all and so have not really explored them in many capacities. But I am very aware of the fact that baddragon is a thing, so...   
  
Imagine Stiles away at college and missing Beacon Hills so much, but for a whole host of reasons. One of which being that he doesn't get the kind of dick he used to. Sure, college guys are slutty and into experimenting, but regular human stuff doesn't do it for him like it used to. Not since he's been hung off a fat wolf knot, had Nemeton tentacles slither deep inside him, or been egg pregged by a selkie.   
  
So he gets an extra job, just delivering some pizzas on nights and weekends to buy himself a small host of toys that can sate the unique need he finds himself hosting. The wolf cock doesn't quite get as wet as the real thing, but it does come with a pump to flood your guts with artificial spunk and the protein shake bros don't even suspect anything when Stiles is microwaving it in the communal area to get it nice and hot like he knows it to be.   
  
He puts a sock on the door when he gets back, but that was pretty unnecessary seeing as how he's a screamer. The whole floor gets treated to his moans as he chews his lips and spends a half hour prepping himself to take it-- nearly putting his whole fist inside to make sure he can take the knot. All the slick, sticky sounds attract a bit of an audience on the other side of the walls, getting heated themselves. Stiles has to suction cup it to the wall because his hand is too slick to properly thrust it inside himself. His belly and tits bounce as he backs up onto it, mimicking being taken doggy style and having his eyes roll back into his head. He fucking Ruins his sheets with the amount of fake spunk he pours into himself, gooning off the way it runs down the back of his balls and thighs.   
  
After he's done his roommate comes back to a horror scene. Stiles is humming as he goes about cleaning in nothing but a pair of very short shorts, but there's fluid on the walls, the room wreaks and the toy, unwashed, is sitting, suctioned to the bed side table. He gulps and Stiles just smirks at him, says he's welcome to it while it's still warm if he wants.

* * *

 

 

****You talked about this pairing a while ago on Twitter, so...how about Isaac suckling on Chris' nipples or grooming his pits, maybe getting to play with his feet?** **

It was so tentative the first few times. They were both in a vulnerable place, raw and needy. Chris drank a lot in the evenings. Isaac was prone to locking himself away for long stretches. It vacillated between being hard to be around each other and needing one another almost more than breath. The first time was not a good time. It was not particularly smart, nor caring. Chris was in his cups, hadn't left the couch for two days. Isaac needed a firm had on his flesh, whether it was to cradle his face or smack it, he didn't really care.   
  
Chris told him he didn't have to, obligation only made it worse. His eyes were fuzzy and he stank of alcohol, unwashed man. Isaac just simpered at him, beyond effective communication-- more instinctual animal than anything else. He made bestial noises as he touched the older man, rubbing his face in salt and pepper chest hair, lapping at soft tits like a babe searching for milk. Chris groaned, played with his curls, dug boots into his back to usher the boy closer.   
  
Isaac sucked his cock through the fly of his jeans that first time, mewling as Chris pushed him all the way to the base, held him there as he coughed, snotted, teared up. Every time he gasped for breath after, it felt revelatory. He creamed his shorts when Chris finished himself, spattering all over his face, wiping it in with his rapidly softening cock. He felt raw after, abrasive. It could have gone badly. It might have been the last time they ever saw each other.   
  
But then the older man's eyes softened. They cleared through the haze of his drink and he choked out a sob. Isaac scrambled into his lap, all long limbs and awkward teen. He kissed Chris again and again and again, even as his nose ran and he shook. "Don't cry, daddy. You have me. For anything, everything." Chris held him so tight, wrapped Isaac up like he could swaddle the boy with his body. Isaac nursed on him to make him feel needed, soothed, to take intimacy for himself. They fell asleep tangled up, tacky.   
  
From there it was better. They were better. Together.

****

* * *

 

****This world needs more Derek, getting his dirty ass or nasty foreskin licked clean by a loving boyfriend.** **

Stiles can always tell because he starts making these faces. Derek may not be very verbal with his expressions, but they're there if you look for them. He'll squirm when he's sitting, scrunch his nose, do these little squats when he goes to stand. "It starting to itch, babe?" He blushes a little when Stiles asks, still not accustomed to being allowed to this, but also getting to share it. He doesn't clam up anymore though, so he nods.  
  
"Haven't wiped all week." He ducks his head a little, so sweet in their intimate moments alone. Stiles gives him the most affectionate smile, pecks his lips and gives him a little, appreciative hum before pushing him to lie down. Derek goes easily, spreads his hairy thighs, sighs in relief when Stiles slides his shorts down and uses his thumb to spread the fatty meat of his asscheeks apart, expose his hole to the cool air.   
  
It's stained, smears of brown traveling down his taint, matting the hair. Stiles can smell it before he even gets close, and it sets his breathing to a shallow, excited rhythm. Derek is part animal, so he likes to live that way. He only washes every few months, likes to relieve himself outside, builds nests, scent marks. He was embarrassed of it when they started dating, but when Stiles took to it so easily, it only made them closer. Every few days his smeg will cake thick enough it interrupts his stream, makes his piss splatter, and his hole will be so dirty it itches, irritates. But Derek doesn't like to wash, so Stiles cleans it for him, in a more agreeable manner.   
  
He wasn't the one to have the idea, but he did make the proposal to take it on to himself. It only took a single instance of walking in on Derek-- one leg propped behind his head, bent in a pretzel, snuffling as he struggled to lap at his own hole, nose at his sweaty balls, nurse his cheesy dick. He had stains on his lips, gunk in his beard. He was half hard and stammered to make up an excuse. But Stiles just shushed him, pushed him flat, kissed and kissed him.   
  
They found this agreeable to both of them. Derek would close his eyes, get comfortable, sometimes even drowse a little as Stiles took his time. He started with the cock-- if he went ass first, the thick, cloying taste of shit would drown everything else out-- peeling back Derek's foreskin to examine the extent of his smeg. It varied, depending on how hot it had been lately, if they'd fucked recently. Derek had a fat head, thick ridges for it to cake under, Stiles had to be thorough to get it all. He especially like the bits in the cleft, where it was fresher with piss and precum, less dry. He hummed as he used a pointed tongue to dig it all up, massaged Derek's hairy belly, took him to the root and nuzzled into his pubes. His ass required broad, flat strokes, lapping at his muddy hole and the streaks around it. By then Derek was half asleep, didn't notice as he farted in Stiles' mouth, came in his hair. Stiles feasted, content for hours.

* * *

 

 

****Don't know if this is your thing, but Hulk and sounding? I mean, that dick is so huge, you could easily stick at least an entire finger in there...** **

They discovered this some time around their fourth fucking. Thor was pretty sure they'd found the best way to make it work, him grinning at the giant of a man as he fist fucked him elbow deep from behind. It was just unfortunate that they could really only pleasure each other in turns, first one and then the other getting to be spoiled by his lover. But then-- Thor was slobbering as he made out with the Hulk's cockhead, making a mess of his beard and his chest hair as he hugged the flesh to him, suckled at the slit as great handfuls of precum flooded his mouth.   
  
He moaned at how easily his tongue slid inside, allowing him to pillage for the fluid, the small intrusion making Hulk twitch and gush anew. A lightbulb went off when he slipped a little, pressed his face to the piss slit and realized it gave to his intrusion quickly. "Friend, I've thought up something new for us to try. Do you trust me?" Hulk thought it over for only a moment before nodding, leaning forward to kiss Thor and let the god suck on his tongue for a bit.   
  
Bolstered-- feeling cocky as the Hulk reclined, put his hands behind his head, flashed those ripe pits Thor so loved to groom-- Thor took that pre and saliva coating his body and took it to his cock, coating it amply in slick. Then he took Hulk in both hands, held him still even as he twitched in curiosity, lined their cocks as he would if they were going to dock foreskins. But instead of simply swirling their heads around, enjoying the slide of their flesh together, he fucked forward, using force to push himself at the Hulks urethra... and then in. The Hulk tensed, Thor flexed his ass, they both shouted out in surprised pleasure.   
  
It was so warm and tight. He couldn't hold back. Steadying himself on Hulk's hips, Thor set up a rhythm, rabbit fucking his friend's cock with his own. The flesh bulged with his movement, the vein underneath Hulk's green dick ballooning when it was stretched. Warm pre gushed out into his pubes, smeared across his hips. Thor's balls slapped against the underside of the cock, making tacky, lewd sounds. Thor gushed inside of Hulk's cock first, filling the channel with foreign cum for the first time, before the giant roared and he was forced out by a flood of the other's spunk. It coated him completely, matting his body hair and running in rivers down his skin. Hulk's cock gaped, and Thor hummed as he bent to suck at it, aroused in ways he'd never been before, tasting the inside.

* * *

 

 

****Peter Parker has tried his best to cultivate some smeg, 'cause he knows Thor's into that. He eventually shows the god. We all know how this story's gonna end:p** **

There's so many men to look up to in the Avenger's. Peter can hardly believe he gets to interact with them all, gets to soak up their smiles and suggestions. But the one he trails after the most is Thor. How could he not? So strong, so kind, so affable. It's easy to be around him, and to fall for him. Peter thinks on him often, wonders if he would even like so slight a boy, if he could be bothered to take a virgin under his wings.   
  
He does his best to make himself into something he things the god would want, would catch notice of in that way. He knows Thor likes his other men eager, unwashed, unashamed. So even though it goes against many of the things he'd been taught before, Peter changes himself to fit it. He doesn't take a cloth to his pits, balls, foreskin. He doesn't shower after their sparrings and he doesn't apologize when the men catch whiffs of his tangy, teenage scent, raise their eyebrows as he dares them to say something.   
  
Thor does not pull him aside though and it eats at Peter. He knows he doesn't have the deep, masculine smells of a full grown man yet. He knows he is small compared to the others. He knows he doesn't know quite how to present himself with allure. But he has to hear for himself, just why the god will not take him. So he bursts into Thor's room, naked, though he staggers a little in his presence. Instead of confronting him with anger, Peter blushes, curls in on himself like a flower shy of the sun. He peels back his foreskin to show the ample smeg coating his flesh, raises his arm to waft a little of his pubescent scent. "Do you not like it? I-- I tried my best, I swear."   
  
Thor chuckles softly at him, but not meanly. "I did not know it was an invitation. Every boy I have known cultivates his stench this way. It is a coming of age in Asgard. When the young sons start to smell of their animal musk, you know they dream wetly and partake in their physical pleasures. Still, they must extend a hand to guests in their bed."   
  
Peter gives a tremulous smile at that, chest suddenly lightened at the idea that he still has a chance. "Oh! Well... I do... have... emissions--er." He laughs as he scratches the back of his head. "I mean, I like being physical and... I want to, with you-- if you want to with me." He rubs his slender thighs together, feels his small ass clench with the excitement of possibly being taken.   
  
Thor just pats the mattress next to him, splays himself out. "Come boy, let me show you what true pleasure it is when a man's stench and a boy's intermingle."

**Author's Note:**

> If you like some of this content and want to drop some prompts of your own, come on over to my twitter @DirtcoreD From there I use my curiouscat for anonymous prompts, have a link to a kinky discord server, and just talk about loads of dumb shit. Feel free to head over and hang out.


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